I'll Wait Forever and a Lifetime to Find I'm Not Alone
by ghostlywhitedirewolf
Summary: Pre-serum!Steve – After the death of his mother, Steve Rogers is decidedly not okay. What he didn't count on, but should have expected, was an intervention from Bucky.


**I'll Wait Forever and a Lifetime to Find I'm Not Alone**

**By**

**Ghostlywhitedirewolf**

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><p>Author's notes:<p>

It's 1am and this is my first Stucky fic and I feel as though I'm still getting to grips with their characters, so please let me know if at any point they feel OOC. I would really appreciate it. I'm open to all constructive criticism as without it I wouldn't improve, but please keep it constructive rather than just flaming.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

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><p>"Steve, what the hell is going on?"<p>

Steve groaned, opening his eyes but struggling to find the energy to lift his head off of the couch cushions.

"Bucky?" he mumbled, his head pounding. The sudden light in the apartment as his best friend threw open the curtains hurting his eyes.

"Jesus, Steve."

Bucky's face suddenly appeared, only inches away from Steve's, his hand pressing against the smaller man's forehead.

Steve repeated Bucky's name, leaning into the hand resting against his head slightly as though the contact could relieve the pain behind his eyes, the pain in the rest of his body.

Bucky frowned, lines appearing on his forehead as he surveyed the scene properly before sighing, "come on punk, why've you done this to yourself. You can get sick easy enough without doing it to yourself."

"M'fine Bucky. Don't give me that speech." Steve tracked Bucky's movements as the other man stood and glared at him.

"You're fine?" Bucky snapped. "Seriously? You're in your undershirts, you clearly haven't moved from there since you got back from the funeral. I told you that you could stay with me. That wasn't a problem, Steve. I thought you just wanted time to deal, not to hole up and feel sorry for yourself. Look at you, Steve. It's cold as hell in here, I can hear your chest from the door, you're shivering and you look terrible. You think your ma would have wanted you to kill yourself with grief?"

Steve grimaced as he pushed himself upwards, ignoring the wave of dizziness and nausea that the movement caused.

"I'm not.." Steve's head swam. "I'm not killing myself Buck."

"No, like hell you're not. I won't let you. Get up." Bucky stepped forward, his voice was angry, but his touch was gentle as he helped Steve to his feet.

Steve leaned against him heavily, finally feeling the full effects of what Bucky had seen.

He sighed and then coughed, the cough quickly escalating until it was shaking his small frame. Bucky's arm tightened around his waist, supporting him as his body spasmed.

"C'mon punk," Bucky said, softly, "let's get you into bed and warmed up. When was the last time you ate?"

"I…" Steve frowned.

"Exactly. Your ma would kill me if I let you waste away. Let's get something warm down you before you end up with Pneumonia again." Bucky half led, half dragged Steve through to his room and set him down on the bed.

"Right, let's get you out of these clothes and into your pyjamas," Bucky said, moving towards the cabinet which held the majority of Steve's clothes.

Steve waited for him to throw him some clean clothes before pulling off the ones he had been wearing, giving them to Bucky who was waiting, hand was outstretched for them.

"Right, get into bed," Bucky told him, placing the clothes on the floor before pushing Steve into the bed and pulling the blankets around him, holding up a finger when Steve opened his mouth to speak.

"Do not Steve. Do not say whatever it is you're about to say." Bucky shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Bucky," Steve muttered, "I don't mean to be a burden. I didn't mean to make myself sick. I never even realised how cold it was in here."

He saw the corner of Bucky's mouth quirk as he looked at him almost fondly and sighed.

"Steven Grant Rogers, you are not a burden and don't let me ever hear you say that again. Stupid, yes. But you're not a burden." Bucky squoze his shoulder gently. "Now sit there and let me make you something to eat."

Steve nodded. "Thanks, Buck."

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><p>Bucky moved around the kitchen grabbing what little food was in the cupboards and chopping it up before tossing it into a pan on the stove. Soup would have to do, cooking had never been his forte, he knew enough to get by only because he'd had no choice after the death of his father.<p>

He grimaced at the concoction in the pan before him, but it was the best he could do without having to leave Steve alone to get groceries, which, with the way Steve was, he wasn't willing to do.

Bucky stirred the soup until it had cooked before tasting it quickly. To his relief, it wasn't totally inedible.

He scooped some into a bowl and headed back into Steve's bedroom, sighing as he took in the sight before him. Steve had curled into himself, looking utterly miserable, the blankets held tightly around his thin frame.

It didn't take much for him to get sick and the apartment was cold and dark. Bucky flicked on the heater, relieved when it started up straight away. Steve couldn't have it on for long because it irritated his asthma, but Bucky figured that warming the apartment was more of a priority than Steve's asthma. He'd just have to keep an eye on his breathing.

"Hey punk," Bucky murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and touching Steve's shoulder gently.

Slowly, Steve uncurled from his current position and propped himself up on against the headrest of the bed, breathing laboured and his face sweaty despite his shivering. He gratefully accepted the soup that Bucky handed to him, beginning to eat slowly, even though Bucky knew that when he had reached this state, he usually felt too queasy to eat much.

After a few mouthfuls Steve stopped and pushed the bowl back towards Bucky.

He opened his mouth, shaking his head. "I can't eat anymore."

Bucky nodded, moving to place the bowl on the table in the living room of the apartment, satisfied that Steve had eaten at least something.

Steve was frowning when Bucky returned, staring at him in an almost fearful way.

"You okay?" Bucky asked.

"Why are you still here, Buck?" Steve asked, looking down at his hands.

"I'm looking after you." Bucky told him simply.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Why wouldn't I be here? I already told you, you don't have to be alone. I wish you'd have just come home with me after you buried your ma." Bucky sat back on the bed, confusion clear in his face.

"But why Bucky, you could just walk away. You say I'm not a burden but I am. I ain't any use to anyone. I can't work, no matter what I do I just end up sick. My ma always used to work more hours to pay for medicine for me so I didn't end up back in hospital or dead." Steve's speech trailed off as another fit of coughing hit.

Bucky waited until he had finished, reaching out and clutching the smaller man's hand as he fought to regulate his breathing.

"I'm here, Steve, because you're my best friend. You ain't a burden to me or your ma or anyone." Bucky insisted, shaking his head when it looked like Steve might begin talking again. "You're the best person I ever met, Stevie. Don't think like that. You weren't a burden on her and you're not a burden on me."

Steve seemed to process that slowly, examining the hand that Bucky held.

His face contorted into an expression of anguish. "Why'd she have to die Bucky? Why her? Why her when I'm the one who's always sick. It should have been me, not her. She didn't deserve it."

Bucky's hands moved without his permission, clutching Steve's shoulders and shaking him gently. "Don't say that. Never say that. You don't deserve to die. No one does, but your ma wouldn't have wanted this. She would've wanted you to be okay. To carry on."

Bucky saw the moment Steve succumbed to his feelings, saw the tears that had been brimming finally starting to fall.

"Hey, hey Steve." Bucky's arms enveloped Steve's tiny frame, pulling him into his chest and holding him tightly as the other man sobbed, great racking sobs escaping from him that Bucky knew had to be hurting him.

"It's okay Stevie, it'll all be okay. I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere." Bucky soothed, running a hand up and down Steve's back as he tried to calm him down.

Steve clutched at Bucky, his hands fisting into Bucky's shirt, burying his face into the larger man's chest as he sobbed.

Bucky continued to rub comforting circles into Steve's back, muttering blameless apologies into his blonde hair until eventually Steve managed to claw back a semblance of control over his emotions.

"I'm sorry," Steve muttered, gently extracting himself from Bucky's arms.

"Don't be sorry." Bucky shook his head, giving Steve a small smile. "We can't be strong all the time."

Steve smiled slightly at him and, although it looked mangled, Bucky didn't comment on it, moving to ruffle Steve's hair playfully, his hand lingering on his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him indicating a fever.

Bucky hoped that he had arrived early enough to prevent the illness developing. The last thing Steve needed right now was a case of pneumonia to add to his troubles.

"I didn't mean to make myself sick, Buck. I didn't even feel that cold." Steve told him insistently.

"You're running a fever," Bucky said gently, "hopefully it'll break quickly and you'll be back to normal soon and I can kick your ass for being such an idiot."

Steve smiled again and Bucky was pleased to note that it touched his eyes. "You couldn't kick my ass if you wanted to, James Buchanan Barnes."

"Sure I couldn't," Bucky laughed, winking at Steve. "You should get some rest."

Steve nodded and Bucky moved to go back into the living room, but Steve's hand shot out to clasp the sleeve of his shirt lightly. "Stay? Please?"

Bucky sighed, looking into Steve's face, at his pleading eyes before he realised he was sunk.

"Fine. Scoot over, punk. I ain't sitting here like a god damn dame, fawning over you." Bucky told him as he pulled off his shoes and waited for Steve to comply before climbing into bed next to him like they'd done since they were kids.

Steve pressed himself up against Bucky as the other man began tracing circles into his back.

"Jerk." Steve replied quietly, his voice muffled by the pillow and Bucky laughed lightly.

"Thanks for lookin' after me." Steve glanced up.

Bucky shook his head. "What I tell you the other day? You ain't getting rid of me so easily. I'm with you til' the end of the line, pal."

Steve smiled, resting his head against Bucky's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and feeling the slow rise and fall of the other man's breathing.

"I know." He muttered sleepily, exhaustion finally catching up with him as the adrenaline of his earlier outburst seeped out of him, leaving him boneless in Bucky's arms.

"Sleep, Steve." Bucky's gentle voice was the last thing Steve heard as the world turned fuzzy and faded away around him. And he knew without question that things would look better in the morning because despite everything, he wasn't alone.

He had Bucky.

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><p><em>el fin<em>


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